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COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



FROM DREAM TO DREAM 



From Dream to Dream 



POEMS 

By 
EDITH WILLIS LINN 




NEW YORK 
JAMES T. WHITE & CO.. 

1918 






COPYRIGHT BY JAMES T. WHITE & CO. 
1917 



M 26 fSJ8 



©GI.A501I00 



•^V't* 



To My Father and Mother 



CONTENTS 

FROM DREAM TO DREAM 

Persephone 13 

Silenced 15 

The Shadow Lands of Long Ago 16 

Faith 19 

Dissatisfied 20 

Satisfied . 22 

Habitation 22 

Restless Heart, Don't Worry So 23 

Whence and Whither? 24 

Shall We ? 25 

A Letter 25 

The Caravan 26 

Faith 27 

Silence 28 

Clotho 28 

Not Long 29 

The Song of the Sea 30 

Waiting 31 

Angel of Death 32 

The Stars Are in the Quiet Skies 33 

Regret 34 

7 



From the Same Port We Sailed 34 

The Ruin 35 

To A Whistle Blown by a Boy 35 

Resignation 37 

Buried Beauty 37 

The Temple 39 

Tak My Hand 39 

The Wage 41 

Song of the Pine 41 

M. MiKAIL MORDKIN 43 

The Garment of the King 43 

Waiting Orders 46 

Spring 48 

A Song 48 

The Dreamer 49 

Knighted 50 

The Shining Pathway 51 

The Years 52 

Wait a While 53 

Earth-Music 54 

A Prayer 55 

Lonely Paths 56 

Arcturus 56 

Orion 57 

Cherry Blossoms 58 

From God 58 

Unseen Presence 60 

Aspiration 60 



Of God 6i 

From Thine Eyes 62 

Weariness 63 

The Shell 64 

Some Day 65 

To A ZuLOAGA Portrait 66 

The Challenge 68 

White Soul 68 

The Truest Friend 70 

Knowledge 71 

Imperial Tea 72 

When Violets Come 72 

Unnoted Joy 73 

Ebb-Tide 74 

Completed 74 

A Thanksgiving 75 

Yellow Flowers in Winter 76 

To A Tree 77 

The Cathedral at Rheims 78 

The Road 79 

Flowers 81 

The Lifted Stone 82 

Peace 84 

Dawn 86 

The Desert Land 87 

Three Songs 88 

Loneliness 89 

Just Be Glad 89 



9 



Freedom 6i 

Temptation 90 

Self Sacrifice 91 

PATRIOTIC 

The Mother 95 

Pershing's Men 96 

My Flag 97 

Soldiers All 98 

A Marching Song for America 100 

The Spirit of America loi 

BIRDS 

Robin Redbreast 105 

Birds in the Snow 106 

The Oriole 106 

Song Sparrow 107 

The Hermit Thrush 108 

The Blue Bird 109 

The Meadow Lark 109 

Brown Bird 110 

The English Sparrow 11 1 

The Catbird 112 

On Hearing the Woodthrush Sing at Dawn . . 115 

The Purple Finch 117 

A Nest Full of Snow 118 

IN MEMORIAM 

In Memoriam 123 

10 



FROM DREAM TO DREAM 



il 



PERSEPHONE 

THE hour draweth near 
When thou, Persephone, shalt reappear 
From the mysterious realms of the dear dead 
By vanished joy, lost beauty, tenanted. 
The robins sing to call thee from the ground, 
The maples' ruddy tresses are unbound, 
The ice-locked rivers melt and gladly run 
Like happy children laughing in the sun. 

bright, illusive maid. 

In the dim regions where thou wast betrayed, 

Tell me if thou hast met a lady dear, 

Grown weary of the lengthening shadows here? 

She wore a little bonnet, silk and lace. 

With roses round the circle of her face, 

And hearts awoke to joy where'er she trod 

Because her life expressed the love of God. 

1 do forget! To thee 
She went arrayed in regal panoply. 
No little bonnet set with roses sweet. 

But dressed as for her king, from head to feet 
All stately grace, bedecked with lilies, fair 

And white as was her hair. 
Oh, she was very, very dear to me ! 
Pray hast thou seen her there, Persephone? 
This is the happy season of her birth. 

13 



With thy return to earth, 
Canst thou not lead her gently by the hand 
Back to the sunshine of her native land? — 
Thou who dost in thy verdant mantle bring 
The myriad flowers of immortal spring. 
Dearer than any flowers beneath the skies, 
The tenderness within her loving eyes. 

Persephone, why tread 
Through the vast, ageless regions of the dead. 
Bringing the bloom of flower, the song of bird, 
But from the vanished lips no loving word? 
Their vaunted power the gods have lost; I know 
Where they have journeyed, they we sorrow so ; — 
Beyond the reach of thee or thy caress. 
Beyond thy jocund smile of tenderness. 
Beyond thy power to woo or to, retrieve. 
Deep in a heart of love they would not leave. 

Blithe goddess of the spring, 
Persephone, we hear thy robins sing 
In the long twilights that she loved to see, 
When her exuberant spirit watched for thee. 
Thou wilt not find her in thy somber land. 
Whose outward-leading paths none understand. 
Bring back thy daffodil and violet; 
Upon the heavenly heights her feet are set. 
Thy shadow-silences the soul must dare. 
To gain the sunlight of that world more fair. 



X4 



Persephone, return, 
Bearing to man thine overbrimming urn; 
And walk our earth as for uncounted years, 
Leading coy April, clad in smiles and tears; 
Woo from the underworld the laggard spring. 

Our dead thou canst not bring. 
My lady sees the asphodel ; the rose 
Of souls grown sanctified and blest she knows. 
Beyond the shadow-realm the dear home-land 
Waits in the loving hollow of God's hand. 
She has gone far beyond thy call and cry, 
Where stretch the mystic pastures of the sky, 
And thou, Persephone, hast grown more fair 
Because she passed thy gate in journeying there. 



SILENCED 

BESIDE the stream of memory 
My silenced harp I hang; 
I sit me down in quiet 

Where once the music rang; 
I fold my hands and listen, 

So silent! I can see 
Where one by one the petals fall 
From out the wild rose tree. 



15 



I wreathe a tiny garland 

Of roses that were mine, 
And hang it o'er the silenced harp 

Whose music seemed divine. 
I fold my hands and listen, 

So silent! I can hear 
Upon the withered petals 

The dropping of a tear. 

stream of memory flowing 
Out to the unknown sea ! 

The ripple of your music 
Life's only song to me. 

1 fold my hands and listen. 
So silent! yet I know 

The unseen ocean out of sight 
Beats on the rocks below. 

THE SHADOW LANDS OF LONG AGO 

SHADOW lands of long ago, 
How softly breathing, to and fro, 
The scent of roses used to steal 
Across the starlit evening air! 
I cannot smell the roses now 

Without a pang that I should feel 
None of those dreams I used to dare. 
Those hopes that moved the spirit so 
In shadow lands of long ago. 



16 



O shadow lands of long ago, 
How softly did thy rivers flow, 
Dream-rivers bearing me afar 

To the great world that called to me! 
How gaily blew thy breezes then! 
Hope's winged winds now silent are; 

They speak no more of foaming sea 
And mighty deeps I longed to know 
In shadow lands of long ago. 

O shadow lands of long ago, 
Must time all beauty overthrow? 

Knee deep the grasses used to stand ; 
I plaited daisies for my hair, 
And fondly dreamed they were a crown. 
Life bore a banner in his hand 

And called on me his pride to share; 
And oh, I used to love him so. 
In shadow lands of long ago! 

shadow lands of long ago, 

1 watched thy ocean overflow 

The sandy shoals, and stood to gaze 
Across the deep for gleaming sails 
That cam.e to bear me fast and far, 
To the great world beyond the haze 

Of childhood! Oh, those boisterous gales! 
It was a joy to hear them blow 
In shadow lands of long ago. 



17 



O shadow lands of long ago, 
Where are the feet that used to go 
Across the dewy lawn, to find 

The garden beauties in their sleep? 
Where are the lips that laughed because 
The heart was young and earth was kind? 
And eyes that had not learned to weep 
These silent tears that flow and flow 
For shadow lands of long ago. 

O shadow lands of long ago, 
Come back, come back to me and show 
My heart thou wast not all a dream. 
Let me once more thy faith enjoy, 
That faith that made all women dear, 
That made all men like heroes seem; 
Let joy and love and hope employ 
The songs and rhymes I used to know 
In shadow lands of long ago. 

shadow lands of long ago, 

1 loved thy dreams and fancies so! 

I sometimes think that earth is not 
The dreary round it seems to be; 
That I now sleep to wake again; 
When all this weariness forgot, 
True beauty shall upspring for me, 
As fair as that I used to know 
In shadow lands of long ago. 



18 



FAITH 

DEAR, it will all come right 
If only you will it so, 
The passionate pain and fret 

Of all that you failed to know. 
God is the God of all, 

Of blossom as well as blight. 

Lean on him, love him more, — 

Dear, it will all come right. 

Dear, it will all come right. 

All that we said or did ; — 
He gathers it up to keep 

Safe in his bosom hid. 
Out of the tangled path 

He leadeth into the light; 
Cling to him, love him more, — 

Dear, it will all come right. 

Dear, it will all come right, 

Sunset and evening bell. 
And the purple, brooding gloom 

Are part of the tale we tell. 
But the dawn comes bye and bye, 

All pure unclouded light, 
Over the eastern hills ; 

Dear, it will all come right. 



19 



Dear, it will all come right, 

If only you wait and pray; 
For the tears must cease to flow 

And the ache must pass away. 
Wait, and the thorny path 

Shall blossom in gold and white ; 
God is not far away; — 

Dear, it will all come right. 



DISSATISFIED 

I HEAR you calling; — through the misty blue 
Of April skies my spirit answers you. 
To wood and shore 
The birds return to build and sing once more; 
Once more I feel you are dissatisfied 
With Heaven because I am not at your side. 
Love finds that songs the nesting robins sing 
Are ever sweeter in remembering. 

The lawns grow green ; 
The dandelions thrust their leaves between 
The cobbles, choosing stone and flint to grow in, 
With all the world of hill and vale to blow in. 
Within the city lots the weeds uprear 
Their vivid leaves in many a pointed spear; 
The maple looms are weaving crimson thread, 



20 



The snowdrop rises, and the leaf is red 
Upon the stunted oak. In distant glen 
The fern frond twists its verdant tip again, 
And mosses green beneath the flying spray 
That washes every trace of ice away. 

Along the ledge 
The dainty mouse ear curls its downy edge 
Of leaf. The squirrelcorn appears, 
And all the flowers we loved in other years, 
But you come not; you walk no more with me 
By street or byway, riveulet or sea. 

When fades the day 
To opalescent shimmerings of gray, 
Or when mysterious dawn is freshly pearled 
Along the upper edges of the world. 
And morning drowns in light the morning star. 
As one whose footsteps wander inland far 
Must evermore be conscious of the sea, 
I hear you calling, calling, calling me. 
I hear you calling: — through the misty blue 
Of April skies my spirit answers you. 



21 



SATISFIED 

HOWEVER much the soul by pain is shriven, 
However much the heart by doubt is tried, 
When I at last shall burst life's earthly prison, 
One thing I know — I shall be satisfied. 

All that love has not granted, yet expected. 
All that the soul has found, or flesh denied, 

All that has been through lust or greed rejected 
Shall meet me there — I shall be satisfied. 

Dreams I have had in waking and in sleeping, 
Radiant with love that is on earth denied; 

All that was mine beyond the power of keeping, 
Awaits me there — I shall be satisfied. 



HABITATION 

SOON I shall leave this little room 
That opens to the day, 
To unfamiliar tavern take 

My solitary way. 
I wonder, will the white roots grow 
Across the heart that loves you so? 

Oh, I have loved this little room 

Where you and I have been! 
This yearning heart that loves so well. 



22 



Down there beneath the green, 
Shall teach these roots that creep and run 
The burning language of the sun. 

RESTLESS HEART, DON'T WORRY SO 

DEAR restless heart, be still ; don't fret and worry so ; 
God hath a thousand ways His love and help to 
show ; 
Just trust, and trust, and trust, until His will you know. 

Dear restless heart, be brave; don't moan and sorrow so; 

smile, 
His love can every wrong and sorrow reconcile ; 
Just love, and love, and love, and calmly wait a while. 

Dear restless heart, be brave; don't moan and sorrow so; 
He hath a meaning kind in chilly winds that blow; 
Just hope, and hope, and hope, until you braver grow. 

Dear restless heart, repose upon His heart an hour; 
His heart is strength and life. His heart is bloom and 

flower ; 
Just rest, and rest, and rest, within His tender power. 

Dear restless heart, be still; don't toil and hurry so; 

God is the silent One, forever calm and slow ; 

Just wait, and wait, and wait, and work with Him below 



Dear restless heart, be still ; don't struggle to be free ; 
God's life is in your life, to Him you may not flee; 
Just pray, and pray, and pray, till you have faith to see. 



WHENCE AND WHITHER? 

THERE'S a spring behind the river, 
Far above us on the mountain 
Where the mornings come the soonest 

And the evenings longest glow; 
There's a bow behind the arrow, 

Flying swiftly from the bow-string; 
There's a bow behind the arrow. 

And a hand behind the bow; 
There's a root beneath the flower 

In the darkness far below. 

There's a sea before the river. 

Mighty sea that rolls in splendor; 
There's a mark before the arrow 

Speeding, singing, on its way; 
There is seed before the blossom. 

Pregnant seed, that holds the meaning 
Of the fragrance of the flower 

And the colors warm and gay; 
There is yesterday behind us. 

And to-morrow for to-day. 



24 



SHALL WE? 

SHALL we wander there again 
Arm in arm and hand in hand? 
All the weary days of winter 

Banished from the land? 
Hear the winds through green boughs singing, 
See our lake its white waves flinging 
On the gray beach where we stand 
Arm in arm and hand in hand ! 

Will you meet me there again 

Face to face and hand in hand? 
In the sunlit, moonlit, starlit, 

Flower-scented land? 
Where the absence and the sadness 
Shall be all forgot in gladness, 

And we know and understand 

Love united, hand in hand. 



A LETTER 

'' I THROUGH falling snow, from southern land, 

-*- A singing bird comes winging; 
White is its pinion, sweet its song. 

My heart leaps up to hear its singing. 
As none but I may understand, 



26 



As none but those who love may hear, 
It pauses now and nestles near; 
I hold it in my eager hand — 

Your letter, just your letter dear. 



THE CARAVAN 

"TV /TY sovereign lord," I fondly plead, 
1.YX (The sultan is my truest friend) 
"Let me be chosen first to ride 
Before thy caravan, to lead 

Thy pageant to the desert's end. 
Am I not faithful, true and tried?" 

My sovereign answered yea nor nay. 
But slowly turned on me to smile. 
"My kingdom hath full many gates: 
I know not which be chosen — stay 
And watch beside me for a while ; 
He often serveth best who waits." 

I waited ; all about me went 

The toilers of the field and town; 
The dusky seamen from abroad ; 
And dwellers of the shifting tent. 
When, wearying, I laid me down; 
It was to sleep upon my sword. 



Then in the silence, as I lay, 
The caravan in splendor came 

Sweeping across the starlit sands, 
Camel and chariot and they 
Who serve beneath the sultan's name 
In alien tribes and distant lands. 

In silence came, in silence sped. 
I, sleeper on the naked sword, 
Waking, behold the sable sky, 
The trampled sand, tinsel and shred 
Of ribbon — I who for my lord 
Would lead the caravan or die. 

"O sovereign Master, answer pray! 
Did'st know I waited but thy word 
Great deeds to do, thy praise to win?" 
The sultan answers yea nor nay, 

But smiles to see me break my sword 
And with the beggars enter in. 

FAITH 

WHEN shadows fill the silent room. 
My little son, in restless sleep, 
Calls, "Mother," and I answer, "here." 
He need not touch me in the gloom. 
Content that love doth vigil keep, 
At rest to know that I am near. 



27 



So is my faith. I little care 

For questioning creeds that praise or blame, 
In face of some impending doom; 
It is enough to call in prayer 

"Father" — and rest within that name, 
When shadows fill the silent room. 

SILENCE 

I AM the warden of the seals of sleep, 
Grim shepherd of the restless hours that stray 
Like lambs across a tranquil country way. 
Mine are the vigils that the lonely keep; 
Dead cities where the desert sands drift deep; 
Songs man once sang, prayers that he used to pray. 
Mine is tomorrow, mine is yesterday. 
The stars that beckon and the mists that creep. 
I claim alike the singer and the song. 
The ancient sphinx that guards life's riddle, I. 
All hopes that triumph upward from the clod, 
All deep creative powers to me belong. 
Alpha, Omega in my bosom lie. 
Safe in my keeping have I hidden God. 

CLOTHO 

WONDERING I saw her stand 
With life's distaff in her hand; 
Patient, beautiful and calm 
As along her pliant palm 



28 



Ran in flying threads my days, 
Whirling in a golden maze. 
Worthy deeds that I had planned 
Fail at motion of her hand. 

Writhing evil, carking doubt. 
Shining beauty lengthening out, 
Winding, whirling, thread on thread. 
Following the hand that led. 

As before my visioned gaze 
Spun these countless, rushing days. 
Strange that every one was bright. 
Scintillating cords of light! 

To full many a weary hour, 
Hath that vision given power, 
Clotho, pure and calm and cold, 
Spinning only threads of gold. 



NOT LONG 

IT won't be long, dear heart, it won't be long. 
And the glad summer will have passed away; 
Inhale the fragrance of the rose today, 
Echo the fleeting beauty in a song; 

Too soon the skies will pale to leaden gray, 
It won't be long, dear heart, it won't be long. 



29 



It won't be long, dear heart, it won't be long: 
Embrace the good that waits at thy behest; 
Clasp every precious moment to thy breast, 

And drain thy cup and chant thy pilgrim song, 
For life so sad, so glad, is brief at best: 

It won't be long, dear heart, it won't be long. 

THE SONG OF THE SEA 

I HEAR the song of the sea forever in my dreams, 
Like a voice it calleth me from the mountains and 
the streams. 
From the uplands, flower-strown, it whispers, "Away, 

away, 
Hasten to seek your own where the tossing billows play. 

I hear the song of the sea in every wish and prayer. 
Like a voice it calleth me, "Put by your useless care." 
The waters of God, serene, vast, eternal and deep, 
Flow from the great unseen and slumber not nor sleep. 

I hear the voice of the sea through all my work and 

play; 
Like a voice it calleth me, "Beloved, come away, 
You are my child, were born in sound of my dashing 

foam." 
It calleth at night and morn, "Daughter, come home — 
come home." 



30 



I hear the song of the sea in all I do or bear, 
Like a voice inviting me from restlessness to prayer; 
I know I shall hear it when I pass to the final sleep — 
Like a solemn, vast amen, sounding from deep to deep. 

WAITING 

IT is mine to tend the roses 
While you are away; 
Mine to keep the flowers blowing 
Where you used to stray. 

Mine to hear the wild bird singing 

By the purling stream; 
Mine to note the sunset crimson 

On the hills of dream. 

I have set your place at table, 

As if you were there, 
With a flower to smile upon you 

When you take the chair. 

I have made your chamber ready, 

Orderly and neat, 
For your tired head the pillow, 

Slippers for your feet. 

Waits the tiny old piano 

And the violin ; 
Through the open southern window 

Floods the moonlight in. 



31 



Mine it is to tend the fire, 

Lest the hearth grow cold ; 
Set your chair, and light the candle 

Where it gleamed of old. 

Tenderly we talk about you, 

We who love you so, 
Wonder why your footsteps linger 

In the long-ago. 

When the north winds creep upon us, 

Read some dear old book. 
Waiting, waiting for your coming 
To the inglenook. 

Yes, I'm keeping all things for you. 

Lest you come today; 
It were lonely should you, coming, 

Find the host away. 



ANGEL OF DEATH 

HE hath a stealthy, noiseless tread, 
This minister of light, 
Who oftenest visits us by night 
And leaves us with our dead. 



32 



Though tears and loss and pain he brings, 
And fearful is his guise, 
Behold the splendor of his eyes, 

The whiteness of his wings! 

From paths of pain but feebly trod 

He bears the soul away, 

Yet doubting human love would stay 
This messenger of God. 



THE STARS ARE IN THE QUIET SKIES 

THE stars are in the quiet skies, 
And peace is an abiding guest; 
Her hand is laid upon my breast, 
I feel the blessing of her eyes. 

The earth is folded into sleep 

Beneath the shadow's cool caress; 

All questioning, all restlessness, 
Sinks into silence, calm and deep. 

Now faith and larger love arise. 

The riddle of my life grows plain, 

I seek, I find my own again, 
When stars are in the quiet skies. 



33 



A REGRET 

I WOULD that I had loved you like the stars, 
Calmly and coldly, constantly at rest; 
That you might link me in your thought with God, 
With peace, not passion ; all that you hold best. 

But I have loved you as the sun that glows, 
Warming to life this sad old world of ours; 

Beneath its beams birds sing and hearts rejoice, 
And earth lifts up its offering of flowers. 

Forgive me, dearest, that I could not hide 

This sun of life, whose beams too ardent are ; 

Remember, if you deem I loved too much, 
The glowing sun is but a nearer star. 



FROM THE SAME PORT WE SAILED 

FROM the same port we sailed, beloved friend. 
From Long-ago land, on the shore of dream. 
And taking different channels of life's stream 
Pass to the mighty deep where all attend. 
Once I have hailed thee through the foam and dark, 
Crying, "Remember evermore the Gleam ;" 
Now silence falls, and fast the ebbing stream 
Sweeps toward the infinite my fragile bark. 
By placid pool, where fragrant lilies lie. 



34 



No ship may stay, no sail may tarry long. 
Burdens we bear; — the weight of others' need, 
The freight of tears, prayer, sacrifice and song; — 
Bear them for him in whose high name I cry, 
"Hail!" through the silent dark, "Hail! and God speed!' 

THE RUIN 

A BLOW to love is like a scathing shell 
Hurled at any ivy-covered citadel — 
A sudden crash, a low, unheeded moan 
And falls the ancient fortress, stone on stone. 

Still round the ruined walls the ivies twine, 
Still through the gaps the quiet planets shine ; 
And in the crannies, at the touch of Spring, 
The cranesbill flowers and the mavis sing. 

TO A WHISTLE BLOWN BY A BOY 

TODAY, above the traffic's flow. 
Thy voice with clear insistence rang, 
As when dear Theocristus sang 
Thy praise, two thousand years ago. 
Its gleeful madrigal to me 
Is like long-lost illusive lays 
Repeated from archaic days 
When earth was one with youth and thee. 



35 



Blow blithely, merry whistle, blow! 

Again the fauns and nymphs rebound 

To thy ebulliency of sound. 
Where bright Sicilian rivers flow, 
And fleecy lambs on nimble feet 

Keep time to flying fingertips, 

As blown from laughing, boyish lips 
Thy notes invest the clamorous street. 

Old earth in misty films of dream 
Lies 'neath its tattered robe of gray. 
While under blooming boughs of May 

The satyrs dance by mead and stream. 

Pipe! pipe! the heart may dance with Pan 
Along the city thoroughfare, 
Though all demurely must we wear 

The solemn mien of modern man. 

At thy alarm again I tread 
The hills of the immortal gods. 
And follow over classic sods 

The footsteps of the ancient dead. 

Blow, lusty whistle, wild and free; 
My eyes are filled with sudden tears 
For all the unremembered years 

Between my soul and Arcadie. 



36 



RESIGNATION 

LO ! where the mighty desert comes in view — 
The scorching sand, the unresponsive sky, 
The desolated, winding path where lie 
The bones of pilgrims who death-journeys knew. 
No rain is here, only the sodden dew 
Whence spring no lovely flowers to bloom and die ; 
Here, stunted thorns and cactus and the cry 
Of wild strange creatures that my steps pursue. 
Others have trod it, shall I halt and quail? 
Only one prayer I offer as I set 
My face toward the rim of sky and land: 
Dear father, let thy little child forget 
Home fields, the azure sea, and the white sail 
That brought her thither. Welcome, drifting sand. 



BURIED BEAUTY 

WHERE the tiny, gauzy wings 
Summer brought the world? 
Underneath the frost and snow 

Lying sadly furled. 
Who would dream to look abroad 

On the stark earth's pain. 
Flash of color, rush of wing. 
Could be her's again? 



37 



Where are dainty petals tipped 

With the morning dew? 
Roses pink and white and red 

That the summer knew? 
Ashes to the heavens blown, 

Dust beneath the feet; 
Buried like some lovely form 

In a winding sheet. 

Where the restless, merry birds 

That when days were long, 
Wove among the flowered trees 

Silver threads of song? 
Looking on the pathless snow, 

In the frozen rain, 
Have we faith to rest assured 

They will sing again? 

You whose lives are one with storm, 

One with dreary days. 
Think how earth will turn again 

To the sunny ways. 
That which keeps in close embrace 

Bees and birds and flowers. 
Only waits the turning time 

Of these hearts of ours. 



38 



THE TEMPLE 

WHO from the marbles of the world that time 
Has hewn — law, social usage, cu tom, creed — 
Upbuilds a temple for his spirit's need 
Wherein to praise with song or rune or rhyme 
Old gods, does well! But who of common clay, 
The base, primeval instincts of his kind, 
Burnt by the fire of passion, by the wind 
Of anguish breathed upon — who day by day 
With battered tools and blunt, some fane uprears 
Wherein to chant his orison of praise 
To living God, builds higher. Better raise 
Such offering, stained with sweat of sin and tears, 
Than walk serene through custom's aisles where trod 
For countless ages those who knew not God. 



TAKE MY HAND 

FATHER, take my hand. 
Thy little child is lost; 
Dark is the way, the night 
Is wild and tempest-tost. 
I have no guiding star, 
Black is the sky and land ; 

Father, I call to thee — 
Take Thou my hand. 



Father, take my hand, 

So hot the blinding tears. 

So bitter outgrown love. 

Lost in the storm of years. 

So sad is the wreck of hope. 

Buried by shifting sand. 
Father, I call to thee — 

Take Thou my hand. 

Father, take my hand ; 

Thy child has gone astray, 
Out of the peaceful path, 

Out of the narrow way; 
Restless and all dismayed, 
Fearing to understand 

Where Thou wouldst have her go- 
Take Thou my hand. 

Father take my hand. 

Lift me up close to thee. 
To hear as Thou must hear 

To see as Thou must see: 
Not as the world would judge. 
My soul would understand 

Darkness to glory changed ; 
Father, take my hand. 



40 



THE WAGE 

WHEN I consider earth's impassioned pain, 
A cry inaudible across the night 
From fog-girt ships that sight no beacon light — 
From caravan across a thirsty plain; 
Dumb weed-choked flowers; seed that springs in vain; 
Storm-beaten bird that sinks upon the height; 
Music unheeded ; joy that dies for right — 

I wonder that we love of life retain 
Ye ancient dead who know the way I go, 
Ye who were bard or warrior, clown or sage, 
Are ye requited with pain's complete wage? 
That all-absorbing heartache lovers know, 
Forgotten in some presence that is peace — 
Hero, Leander, Dante, Beatrice? 



SONG OF THE PINE 

OH, the pine, the green pine. 
Let its praises be mine! 
I sing of its beauty when south winds are sweeping, 
When partridge-vine under its shadow comes creeping. 
When wood-roses blow in the sunflecks below 
And the ferns present arms in a rioting row. 
Oh, the pine, the green pine, 
Let its praises be mine ! 



41 



Hail the evergreen pine, 

Let its praises be mine! 
I sing of its courage when north winds are blowing, 
Of its power of greenness in freezing and snowing. 
In the bloom of the rose or the weight of the snows, 
When the pine-siskin builds or the last songster goes, 

Hail the evergreen pine, 

Still its praises are mine! 
\ 
Sighs the evergreen pine, 

"Countless uses are mine! 
Lo! the masts of great ships where vast oceans are 

spreading; 
The floor and the stairway that dear feet are treading; 
The table and stool, and the windlass and spool; 
Lo! the last snug, strong box of the king and the fool: 

These gifts are all mine," 

Sings the evevrgreen pine. 

Hail the pine, the green pine. 

For its God is still mine! 
With its delicate beauty in summer winds sighing, 
With the strength of its verdure in winter undying. 
Let us stand, let us rise, let us reach to the skies. 
Be glad in our growing if life sings or sighs; 

And for purpose divine 

Trust the God of the pine. 



42 



M. MIKAIL MORDKIN 

OF THE IMPERIAL RUSSIAN BALLET 

EVOKER of high dreams, of joy and pain, 
Thy magic conjures Ilium's classic field, 
Where Ajax met the foe who would not yield; 
Leander swimming through the moonlit main; 
Olympian runners scurrying o'er the plain. 
The Belvedere so long in stone congealed ; 
Gay nymphs and fauns in caves and glens concealed, 
Reanimate, inhabit earth again. 
Imprisoned loveliness of Elgin's stone; 
That sexless beauty Greece alone displayed. 
In art untrammeled, fetterless and free; 
All symmetry, all grace the earth has known 
Is thine — is through thy witchery portrayed: 
Life becomes beauty when beholding thee. 

THE GARMENT OF THE KING 

A BEGGAR crouched beside the way 
The passing court to see; 
From gorgeous chariot the king 
Surveys the pomp and pageantry, 
While right and left his courtiers fling 
The golden coinage of the day. 

The beggar caught the flying gold 
And flung it back again ; 

"Keep thou the largess of thy pelf, 

43 



It wins not love nor eases pain ; 
Grant me a little of thyself 
Within my daily life to hold." 

The knights and courtiers crowded fast 
The beggar to remove ; 

But the king smiled and bending down 
Gave to the man, as gift of love, 
The silken lining of his gown, 
With gold and silver overcast. 

Then to his hovel in the gloom 
The beggar bore his prize; 

There day by day toiled all alone, 
Hidden from prying, curious eyes, 
Until upon his floor of stone 
Upreared a tiny, clumsy loom. 

Then all that fabric of the king 
By threads he pulled away. 

Winding together, roll on roll, 
Till silken masses 'round him lay. 
For food he had his beggar's bowl 
With water from a hidden spring. 

There came a day when on his loom 
He wrought the raveled thread, 
In rare design and curious tone. 



44 



By dream and inner vision led ; 

Wrought singing, as he toiled alone 
Within his narrow, darksome room. 

Till such a fabric he had wrought, 
Such wondrous, rare design, 

His comrades came and paid to see. 
With gold and jewels of the mine. 

While pearls from life's tempestuous sea, 
And corals from the south, they brought. 

Full many paused to hear him sing. 
Full many turned away, 

But day by day, and night by night, 
In sunny gleam or shadow-play. 

He wrought upon his garment bright. 
His garment for the king. 

The pearls and corals dearly bought 
O'erlaid the silken threads, 

The gold and silver lit the whole. 
And singing ever as he treads 

The clumsy loom, the beggar's soul 
Grew still with worship as he wrought. 

And lo! when sunset flushed the west. 
Behold! the great king came. 

All radiance through the brooding gloom, 



45 



Calling the beggar by his name; 
He lifted from that lowly room 
And held him on his kingly breast. 

"My son, who asked myself to give; 
By threads my robe unwound ; 

At last my garment is thine own, 
Given by me but by thee found ; 

For thine the loom, the pearl, the stone, 
And thine the song that made them live. 

Sing on in rapture and in rest, 
Wear now my garment and my ring; 

To make of joy a sacrifice. 
To triumph over pain and sing, 

Have made thee mine for Paradise — 
On earth, in heaven, forever blest." 

WAITING ORDERS 

FOR every high emprise, O God, 
Thy loyal legions stand and wait; 
Thy trumpet never called in vain ; 

Ten thousand guard each bridge and gate. 
And gladly welcome any fate. 
Pouring their life-blood out like rain. 
Counting thy services brightest gain. 
To die for thee their best estate. 



46 



O Lord of hosts, thy armies rise ! 

Thou ask'st of life a pioneer 
To hew the way from wrong to right, 

And hundreds answer, "I am here." 

By pathless roads, by far and near. 
Thy servants hasten day and night; 
Thou callest one to bear a light 

And, lo! a million hands uprear. 

This heart is only one that wills 

Great deeds to do, thy call to know ; 
But unto me no field belongs. 

No high emprise, no flag to show. 

Mine but the daily bending low 
In petty service; no great wrongs 

To right, no fearsome path to go, 
Not even scourges, bars and throngs. 

Yet have I need of patience, Lord, 

Within the treadmill firm to stand ; 
To feel that drudgery is thine. 

In daily task to find thy hand ; 

In what I bear and what withstand. 
What I have missed of shade and shine. 

To feel thy blessed love hath planned 
A purpose holy and divine. 



47 



Some great design I cannot know 

May wait the simple, daily deed ; 
Perhaps the tiniest ministry 

May answer to some mighty need. 

I like to think that thou dost heed 
My wish to glad and patient be; 

This only would I pray and plead, 
Where thou hast lack, O God, send me. 



SPRING 



EACH time the spring renews her wonder story 
Looks the grass greener, sweeter sings the bird? 
Then doth thy soul press on to greater glory, 
Expanding to the beauty of God's word 
That whispers ''Spring," and all the roots awaken, 
That whisper "Faith," and courage comes anew; 
That whispers "Light," and shadows overtaken 
By radiance melt as sunbeams drink the dew. 



A SONG 

MY love is like a wilding bird 
Within some forest's shy retreat, 
That sings a song so low and sweet 
His listening mate alone hath heard. 



48 



He sings to greet the dawn above, 
In sunset's crimson glow he sings; 
With drooping head and folded wings 

At night he sleeps to dream of love. 

So in the heart's untrodden ways, 

Unguessed of men, sounds love's refrain; 
A hidden joy as keen as pain 

Moves like a song across the days. 

O wilding bird that sings alone, 
O love that guerdons out of sight! 
Beyond the stars, within the light, 

The singer and the song are one. 



THE DREAMER 

THE dreamer from his window sees 
The wonder-pageant of the sky, 
White ships that dare a fitful breeze, 

The storm-scarred mountains lifted high. 

Beneath the flower-robe of Spring 
He sees the Summer's dancing feet, 

The rapture in the swallow's wing, 
The pain in grim November's sleet. 



49 



He sees the children pass to school, 
Strong men who hasten up and down, 

The busy bustle of the fool, 

The merry motley of the town. 

Love smiles for him — and passes by; 

Light, shadow, all things his to see ; 
The depths men sound, the heights they try, 

Oh, who would not a dreamer be? 



KNIGHTED 

LORD, I have bathed me in a bath of tears; 
In sorrow's bed outwatched the sleepless night; 
Look on me now, behold my vestures white, 
And scarlet with the heart-blood of sad years. 
Shodden in earth-brown shoon my soul uprears 
To greet thee, girt with baldrick, glittering bright, 
And spurred for service, as becometh knight 
Who in the doughty lists of thine appears. 
Yet must I bow me for the stinging blow — 
Thine accolade — that makes me wholly thine. 
No outward vesture that the soul may know. 
No hallowed vow, no proffered gift of mine. 
But this thy glave laying the spirit low ; 
My Lord, I rise to conquer in this sign! 



50 



THE SHINING PATHWAY 

YESTERDAY was very happy, heart of mine. 
Is its gladness gone forever? 
Why repine? 

All around thee hearts are gay, 
Mid earth's beauty thou mayst stray 
In the sunlit pathway of to-day. 

Does to-morrow's pain affright thee, heart of mine? 

Azure skies still bend above thee, 

Stars still shine. 

Not a burden life shall lay 

On thee but thy strength may say, 

"I can bear this bravely for to-day." 

Cringe not at the noisy highway, heart of mine; 

Fear thou not the lonely pathway 

That is thine. 

Straight before thee lies thy way. 

Narrow strips where sunbeams stray, 

Little shining pathway of to-day. 

Surely thou canst gladly tread it, heart of mine, 

Love and friendship, toil and service. 

All are thine. 

Such a tiny, easy way! 

Just an hour to work, to play! 

Little sunny pathway of to-day. 



51 



Life is full of wrongs and failures, heart of mine; 

Cling not to them, weep not for them; 

The Divine 

Led thee hither. Up! away! 

This thy duty — strive and pray 

In the narrow pathway of to-day. 



THE YEARS 

DAUGHTERS of Time, the unrequited years, 
Bringing their gifts to the outreaching hand; 
Laurel and rose and hyssop; scourge and band; 
Laughter and madness; preciousness of tears; 
The sad, the glad, the unremembered years — 
In stately, armoured file appear to stand; 
And from the indistinct, retreating band, 
One visioned shape like nimbused appears, 
Aureoled in light, a garland on her brow, 
With flower-hung harp across whose vibrant strings 
Move melodies from memories consecrate. 
O peerless year, stand forth from all I know! 
Escape not to oblivion — let the wings 
Of love thou gav'st bear thee inviolate. 



52 



WAIT A WHILE 

DEAR, wait a little while 
Under the lowering cloud. 
While the sleet is falling fast 

And the winds cry out aloud ; 
Wait for the storm to pass, 

Wait for the sun to smile ; — 
Wait and be brave and strong; — 
Dear, wait a little while. 

Dear, wait a little while; 

The rose but sleeps in the snow; 
The birds are singing afar 

The songs that we welcome so; 
Wait, they will bloom and sing 

And all our care beguile; 
Wait and be sweet and true; 

Dear, wait a little while. 

Dear, wait a little while. 

What matters a day, a year? 
The anguish will sometime pass 

And the shadows disappear. 
Sometime something will come 

To heal and reconcile 
All that is hurt and wrong; 

Dear, wait a little while. 



53 



Dear, wait a little while ; 

For nothing is wholly lost; 
Sometimes we tread joy's pathway 

At the spirit's heavy cost. 
Always we reach our heights 

Through rocky, steep defile. 
Where torrents surge and sweep ; — 

Dear, wait a little while. 

Dear, wait a little while; 

From under the blinding sleet 

Thy God will lead thee anew 

In ways that are strangely sweet; 
In flower-strewn paths of peace 

His sun shall ever smile. 
Turning all tears to pearls ; — 

Dear, wait a little while. 

EARTH-MUSIC 

LIKE the song of the bird that's nesting, 
Like the surge of the summer sea, 
From the far-off deeps of fancy 
Sweet music comes to me. 

It bears to the troubled hour 

The grace that the past has worn, 

O'er moonlit wakes of memory 
Into the present borne. 



54 



The echo of all things tender 
That ever were sung or said, 

The loving words of the living, 
The sacred words of the dead. 

No sweet word ever spoken 

But echoes in that song. 
No noble thought but vibrates 

Its thrilling chords along. 

Listen, O soul, believe it; 

This is the human heart! 
Not rush and roar of the rabble, 

Not strife for life's meaner part. 

And ever and ever onward 

The strain shall stronger grow. 

Out of the realms of fancy 
Into the real below. 

A PRAYER 

I HEAR the caged bird singing 
"I shall be free, be free!" 
And the violet in the darkness 

Of winter calls to me: — 
"Patience a little longer; 

Wait for the fuller light!" 
Thou God of bird and violet 
Lead thou my feet aright. 



55 



LONELY PATHS 

OFOMALHAUT, great lonely star! 
Sad autumn's southern skies are bright 
With thy untroubled gaze that marks 
Earth's flower-pageant fade from sight. 

So hast thou seen old empires fall; 

The prides and pomps of kings outgrown; 
War, love, power, mirth and melody, 

To silence and oblivion blown. 

Beholding these, thou shinest on. 
Serene, and passionless and pure, 

Fair symbol of the faith that marks 
Thy pathway, lonely and obscure. 

Teach me thy secret, peaceful star. 
Shine in my soul, and day by day 

Reveal the strength in lonely paths, 
The purpose of the silent way. 



ARCTURUS 

CRIMSON star, how can you shine so bright 
Above the blackness of yon eastern hill! 
War, pestilence and famine, grewsom.e ill 
Of soul and sense, have stalked beneath your light 
Three thousand years since, to Job's failing sight, 



56 



You brought forth faith and armed anew his will. 
Mankind, grown weary of the flesh, would still 
Curse God and die, but for that sense of right. 
Holding ail life in an unswerving way. 
You through the ages destined to endure, 
Some mighty sun burning with healing ray — 
Man, in his fitful, passionate, insecure. 
Moment in endless space — still praise that name 
Whose precepts are from age to age the same. 



ORION 

AGAIN I greet thee swinging into sight, 
Compellent warrior, through the eastern sky, 
Belted and booted, brandishing on high 
Thine ancient splendor through the lists of night. 
The jester year, in motley dark and bright, 
Inverts his cap and bells, as we descry 
Across night's dusky field thy piercing eye 
Hurl challenge at our weakness, lord of light! 
Fain would I have my craven heart uprear 
Like thee, bright flaming constellation. So, 
In thee, my broken purposes appear 
Star-belted and light-girded ! I would know 
The victory of soul that, year by year, 
Rises triumphant over every foe. 



57 



CHERRY BLOSSOMS 

WHITE evanescent blooms, rain-winds are sighing, 
Like fragile ships that dare the ocean wide 
With perfumed sails, thy petals drifting, flying, 
Scatter thy sweets on the aerial tide. 

Anchored an hour beside us, they are going, 
Laden with promise of the fruited spray. 

Purposes deep those clinging, drooping, blowing. 
Winged argosies of blossom brought the May. 

Rebellious heart, life is forever calling 

Thy joys to leave thee. Drifting down the years. 

Friendships and loves, as these white petals falling, 
Pass beyond sight bedimmed by rain of tears. 

Blanched flower-sails before the breezes driving! 

Beauty and joy that to the past belong! 
Oh, mourn them not, but with diviner striving 

Welcome to-morrow's blossom, love and song! 



FROM GOD 

BLIND from the storm and lighthouse glare, 
Seeking on eager wing its home, 
Cleaving the chill, autumnal air, 

Wet with the hurtling spray and foam, 
The sea bird beats against the cliff 



58 



That juts above the heaving sea, 
And dies beneath the beetling crag, 

The crag where its nest should be, ah me! 
Where joy and rest should be. 

A rosebud wooed the morning air; 

Before its pearls of dew were dried 
It seemed the fairest of the fair, 

But even as it bloomed it died. 
Its promise perished ere it lived. 

Its fragrant wonder, good to see. 
Blighted and withered; browned away; 

Dried leaves where a rose should be, ah me! 

Thorns where a rose should be. 

Who wills the storm, the starving brood. 

The blight upon the perfect flower? 
Father, is thine life's cruel mood? 

Earth's mighty, unrelenting power? 
The beaten hearts that bleed and break, 

The blighted lives, are these of thee? 
Heart-hunger, loneliness of soul. 

Where love and joy should be — ah me! 

Where love and joy should be? 



59 



UNSEEN PRESENCE 

SHE Cometh not by hall or stair, 
She entereth not by any door, 
Yet mingling with my morning prayer 

I feel the sense of her I love, 
I turn to know that she is there. 

I cannot see her, yet my eyes 
Behold her, and I feel her arms — 

Her arms that clasp my paradise. 
Her cheek against my cheek is pressed ; 

Upon my breast the dear head lies. 

O glimpse of something more than sense! 

Should not the heart find joy enough 
In mystery of love intense? 

Body and soul be satisfied 
With this, a sorrow's recompense? 



ASPIRATION 

I AM the blush of the summer rose, 
The flush of the morn. 
The smile on the face of the dead, 

The song newly born 
From heart of the poet, from shell of the sea, 
From rush of the river that oceanward flows. 



60 



I am immortal. Who knows me is glad. 

Men give me the name 
Of passions that kindle the soul — 

Love, faith, beauty, fame. 
I dwell with all these, yet am higher than al 
Without me the angels of heaven were sad. 



FREEDOM 

WE seek thee on the eagle's wing, 
Or ships that ply the main. 
We find thee in the narrow room. 
And on the bed of pain. 

For thou art where the aspiring soul 

Its bondage overthrows, 
Waiting inside the cruel bars 

Where beal:en heart-blood flows. 



OF GOD 

OF the boulder, moss covered and hoary, I asked, 
"Where is God?" 
Of the violet, fragrant and fragile, amid the green sod; 
The rock said, "Behold in my strength He is near; 
And the bloom of a day whispered, "Lo! He is here." 



61 



Of the hero, acclaimed and exalted, I asked, "Where is 

God?" 
Of one stricken, defeated and broken, and bowed 'neath 

the rod ; 
One said, "In my triumph He liveth, is near;" 
And the other replied, "In defeat He is here." 

Oh, immanent, light-hidden, cloud revealed, soul of 
creation ; — 

The cause and effect, the revealed and the vast reve- 
lation! 

I question no more — only listen to hear 

Out of the silence the thunders proclaim, "He is near." 

TURN THINE EYES 

OH, turn thine eyes to beauty and behold. 
Above the noise and squalor of the street, 
The tender sky arch clean and clear and sweet. 
Whose mist and cloud the sunset turns to gold. 

Behold by inward eye, through country ways, 
Young, blue-eyed April with her wind-blown hair 
Crossing the silent pastures, brown and bare, 

To melt upon the woodland in a haze. 

Where her white feet have trod, the grasses creep, 

And oozy lie the meadows to the sun ; 

Each brooklet laughs, the rivers leap and run, 
And all our sister flowers wake from sleep. 



Oh, look beyond thy prison, past thy bars; 

Watch out across the grayness for a sail. 

Remember thou the stars that never fail, 
And those far silent heights beyond the stars. 

Oh, turn thine eyes to beauty, now the gray 
Crimsons upon the maples' swaying bough; 
Birds sing again, and on glad childhood's brow 

Faith prints the promise of a better day. 



WEARINESS 

KISS her good-night, the childish games are ended, 
She wants to go to sleep ; 
Her eyes, once dazzled with the vision splendid, 
Have grown too sad to weep. 

Her doll is broken and her heart is dreary 

Amid life's make-believe; 
She wants to lie along your arm, too weary, 

Too passionless, to grieve. 

So many pretty fancies led to sorrow 

Through the brief summer day; 
Now night has come, she dreads a sad tomorrow 

In which to weep and pray. 



63 



Let Love's dear hand reach out from hidden places 

And smooth her tangled hair; 
She knows that God abideth in dim spaces 

Nor fears to seek him there. 

As from some vanished sun his splendor streameth 

Around the weak and worn, 
A human hand must hold her lest she dreameth, 

And miss the hills of morn. 

Kiss her ^ood night, no dear delusions bind her. 

The sun is in the west; 
Just kiss her once and pray Death's angel find her 

And give her endless rest. 

THE SHELL 

BEHOLD this shell by southern seas upcast; 
An infusorial home whose tenant knew 
Strong, embryonic appetite; withdrew 
From spiral unto spiral, making fast 
His outgrown, unused chambers of the past; 
Held to the ear, how sweet the air sighs through 
Its convolutions, and the ocean blue 
Seems singing from its caverns dim and vast! 
O thou great love that moves the human heart, 
We rise through upward-winding ways to thee! 
The lesson of this tiny life impart; 
May outgrown sensuousness forgotten be. 
As through dim spirals of our lives thou art 
Breathing the music of the far-off sea. 

64 



SOME DAY 

SOME time I'll have time to say 
Loving things I've missed today: 
Some time I'll have time to do 
All the noble things and true 
That have risen in my breast, 
Longing to be set at rest. 

Some day I'll have time to wait 
On the beggar at the gate ; 
Some day ease a load of care 
By a loving word or prayer; 
Some day soothe the brow of pain 
Till the sufferer sleeps again. 

Some day I'll have time to tell 
Of the dreams I dream so well; 
Some day the great world will stay 
Listening to the words I say. 
Some day I will sing a song 
Weary hearts have waited long. 

Some day I'll have time to be 
Loving, patient, strong and free ; 
Some day I will braver grow. 
Greater love and mercy show ; 
Some day, some day, I'll be strong; 
Some day triumph over wrong. 



65 



Loving father of us all, 

Take our failures as they fall, 

Gather up our "someday" dreams, 

Plant them by thy heavenly streams; 

Judge us only by the good 

Of our inner angelhood. 



TO A ZULOAGA PORTRAIT 

OF 

MADAME LA COMTESSE MATHIEU DE NOAILLES 

FROM vivid canvas, from this pictured face, 
This^ woman of an alien land and race, 
Whose dark-rimmed eyes, whose mouth's illusive line, 
Proclaim her lineage of spirit mine, 
I see myself look forth, as from a glass; 
Our mirrored image flashes as we pass. 

When on the shore we stand and hear the sea. 

In reiterative insistency. 

Chanting its song, each foaming, nimbused crest, 

Rising and falling in a vague unrest. 

Repeats the ocean. In this face I see 

The life that pulses in the soul of me. 

The rose hath petals, every petal rose 
Exhaling fragrance that the flower knows; 
Like flower fragrances my visions rise 



To meet me in the starlight of her eyes; 
Her pain and failure, rapture and unrest, 
Awaken echoes in my startled breast. 

Who art thou that in beauteous flesh reveals 
The soul of me that mine own flesh conceals? 
What subtle union bound our lives elsewhere? 
At some white shrine of sacrifice and prayer 
Lit we the sacred lamps? Beside the sea 
With Sappho and her maidens wandered we? 

Come memory, cobwebbed in the seething mesh 
Of western life, speak from this painted flesh 
That seems mine own. Neath what Druidic yew 
Knelt we beside the altar? Where the dew 
Of early morn disturbed, as blithe and gay 
We watched our sheep upon some upland way? 

Long I have known and loved thee, dwelt with thee 

In ancient, mystic consanguinity. 

Pregnant with meaning is this solemn sense 

Of vast, unknown, intense omnipotence, 

Holding each petalled life, each moving crest, 

In a potential unity at rest. 

Sweet lady, look on me as I depart. 
Look from the canvas deep within this heart 
Aflame with cosmic, passionate desire, 
Athirst with thine own soul's unquenched fire ; 
Farewell ! I leave thee, till we meet once more, 
For life and love that we have known before. 
67 



THE CHALLENGE 

HAIL to you dull-eyed, dark despair, 
I've- seen your face before; 
I've met you when my hours were fair, 

In happy days of yore ; 
On with your legions! Do your worst! 
Who fears alone shall be accurst. 

Like pines along some storm-tossed coast, 

The shadowy ranks arise. 
Dark minions lurk at every post, 

With horror in their eyes. 
But I my battle flag unfurl 
And back your wild defiance hurl. 

Love is my watchword, strong and calm. 

And prayer my tested shield ; 
Faith's arsenal is where I arm 

My force that shall not yield. 
On come the legions — form the line — 
To arms! I conquer in this sign. 

WHITE SOUL 

SOUL of my soul, forgive me that I lose 
The memory of thy immortal grace. 
And seek in unfamiliar paths and poor 
To find a transient joy in mortal face. 



Forgive me that I lose the lustre cast 

From thy calm eyes and clasp earth's glittering dross, 
Forgetting that we were in heaven born 

To share each joy, to bear each aching cross. 

I have gone far along a lonely way 
Who might have felt the pressure of a hand ; 

I have dug deep in mire who might have climbed 
Close to thy side into some Beulah land. 

I chose the city glare, the throngs of men, 
Who might know solitude and peace with thee ; 

I toiled with draggled skirts to harvest pain 
Who might have flown, a spirit winged and free. 

I coddled greed and lust and selfishness, 

Weeds of a sad, rank growth, that bear no flowers, 
Who might have plucked the ripened fruits of love 

From branches drooping out of heavenly bowers. 

My own white soul, my better, higher self, 
Lift me and lead me closer to thy smile; 

Compel me not to loneliness who seem 
Thy unpolluted being to defile. 

White soul of mine, look at me as I pray, 
Clasp me about and tell me, o'er and o'er, 

That thou and I are one, inseparable, 
Of God. for God, to God, forevermore. 



THE TRUEST FRIEND 

WHEN Cygnus climbs the eastern sky, 
And all the air is sweet with flowers, 
Upon the earth's warm breast I lie 

And dream of dear, departed hours, — 
Of love that promised to endure 

Beyond the test of time and tears, 
Of friendship that should last secure 
Through change and silence of the years. 

O kindly earth, I lean on thee; 

Unchanged alone thy faithful breast; 
Thy beauty reaches out to me 

And bids me closer cling and rest; 
Thy flowers breathe the same sweet tale 

And call to peace the restless heart; 
Thy low night-voices never fail 

To ease life's weariness and smart. 

O earth, man's kind, unfailing friend, 

I shall be one with thee some day! 
One with the flowers that bow and bend, 

One with the grasses' sweep and sway. 
O earth, I love thee! hold me close 

And let me weep my passion dry. 
While in the garden dreams the rose 

And Cygnus climbs the evening sky. 



70 



KNOWLEDGE 

OH, now past any questioning she knows 
How through that grim, mysterious gate of old 
The eager pilgrim on his journey goes. 

She knows if promised courts and streets of gold 
Are fairer than familiar daisy banks, 
For which her loving soul gave fervid thanks 
In June's effulgence. Surely now she knows 
If asphodels are sweeter than the rose 
She loved, or fairer than the blooming grass 
Through which, hand locked in hand, we used to pass. 

Ah, now she knows past any hope or faith; 

Past any peradventure, change or chance. 
No more the mighty question, "What is death?" 

The answer hers. Past any circumstance, 
Past failure, reach of bitter tears or strife. 
The perfect loving that is perfect life ; 
The larger wisdom that can see the use 
Of earthly pain and sorrow and abuse ; 
The vision that beholds God's leading hands 
In every step of life, she understands. 

Yes, now she knows ; the whole great circle knows ; 

And we who from the shadowed pathway see 
Where the small arc of earth-life faintly shows. 

But half believing that the arc shall be 



71 



Full-rounded somewhere — perfected — complete — 
Why should we ever sorrow that her feet 
Tread all the glory of the complete whole? 
For us the fitful longings of the soul; 
For her the perfect vision, the full light, 
Wherein is lost earth's sorrow, wrong and blight, 

IMPERIAL TEA 

UNCURL your twisted leaves, effusive flower 
Of old Japan that blossomed long ago, 
When filmy plum-trees shed a fragrant snow, 
And cherry petals fell, a fragrant shower. 
You hold mysterious, narcotic power; 
Your tiny stems, your tremulous veinings, show 
A royal lineage ; only emperors know 
This budding leaf of Spring's enchanted hour. 
Your necromancy weaves in manifold 
Ethereal patterns; figures interwove 
With broidered silks — teak, ivory and gold; 
Jade carvings wherein beauty vies with death 
For recollection ; shapes of woe and love 
Rise from your fumes, ephemeral as breath. 

WHEN VIOLETS COME 

W'E did not ask to know 
Pn just what day of Spring 
The violets would blow ; 
Or soon or late, 

It mattered not, our faith could wait. 
72 



Enough If we could dare 

Believe the winter's frost 
The quickening root would spare 
From death or blight; 
Forever life must seek for light. 

All times are in God's hands; 

Ours but to hold the faith, 
That he who understands 
Star, dust and flowers. 
Will lead these human hearts of ours. 



UNNOTED JOY 

^"^HIS, too, will be the past. 
This brief, bright day, 
Full of its eager hopes, its restless fears; 
We shall look back on it from the far years 
And fondly say 
It was too sweet to last. 

Its sorrow will away. 
And we shall know 

Only delight of friendship and of love. 
Only the blessed presences that move 
Half noted to and fro 
Across the hurrying day. 



73 



O memory that so reveals 
Life's highest, best, 
Today push back thy mask, thy face make plain ! 
Why turn we to the closed gate again? 
Why count we only what is lost as blest? 
Miss what each day conceals? 

EBB-TIDE 

FAR from life's restlessness I long to steal. 
As the sea leaves the murmurous, fretful shore. 
The tangled weeds, the jagged rocks that tore 
To foam and spindrift what the deeps conceal. 
My soul from stagnant pool and rotting keel. 
Flotsam and jetsam that were loved of yore. 
Ebbing towards mighty deeps unsensed before, 
Is drawn responsive to the stars' appeal. 
Yet evermore from alien shores the tide 
Returns unquestioning; is lashed and rent 
On rock and shoal, refreshing weed and shell 
And creeping life ; of hidden worlds to tell. 
Of stars to murmur: thus, O soul, abide 
God's high behest — spend ever and be spent! 

COMPLETED 

THE murmurous brook at my feet, 
Oh, what does it know of the sea? 
Has the seed, as it hangs in the pod, 
A dream of the flower to be? 
74 



The bird that was fledged yester morn, 
Does it know where the south lands are? 

Have the nebulous mists a hint 
Of the ultimate birth of the star? 

But the beauty of sea and land, 

And promise of heaven above, 
All vision and consummation 

I find in the face that I love. 

A THANKSGIVING 

FATHER, I thank thee for the morn 
Whose opening flowers speak thy love 
For life of bird in music born ; 

For constant skies that arch above ; 
For all that creeps or flies or sings. 
For all earth's myriad, sentient things. 

Father, I thank thee for the flush 
Of sunset crimsoning shore and sea ; 

For night's cool dew and fragrant hush; 
For harvest borne from hill and lea ; 

For autumn's vivid, transient glow ; 

And for the winter's robes of snow. 

Father, I thank thee for the life 
That quickeneth all things here below ; 

For pain I thank thee and for strife ; 
For love, for prayer, for shame, for woe ; 

But most of all for hope whose face 

Makes sunshine in life's darkest place 
75 



YELLOW FLOWERS IN WINTER 
I 

I DIP my hands in sunshine and behold, 
Across the blinding whiteness of the snow, 
Remembered fields with buttercups ablow, 
Bedight with cowslips, where in phalanx bold 
The mullein waves its plumed spears of gold. 
And orioles flit like sunbeams to and fro 
With the wee yellow summerwarbler. Lo! 
Earth's golden banner at a touch unrolled. 
Your power to transmute, your alchemy, 
O flowers, changes snow and bitter wind 
To warmth and light and beauty that shall be; 
You are like human smiles that bring to mind 
Love's fond sweet things and help us to forget 
Our passionate pain and failure and regret. 

II 

When on these aureal, hot-house flowers I look. 
Kaleidoscopic pictures flash in view — 
New Hampshire ponds where waterlilies grew; 
Gay loosestrife gathered from beside the brook 
In by-gone springs ; the yellow rose I took 
To school with me; the merry finch that flew 
Like a winged tulip out across the blue; 
One peerless sunset cloud ; the garden nook 



76 



Where my dear mother's lemon lilies blow. 
Scenes half-forgotten, the dear out-of-sight ; 
Swift, momentary memories we know ; 
High vision beckoning star-like in the night — 
These are the real ; and these, O flowers of gold ! 
You bring to mind in pictures manifold. 

TO A TREE 

BOUND in thy bark is God's life, O tree! 
Out of thy boughs flows that life to me. 
Bird-bearer, wooed by the south wind's breath, 
Man in his pride goes down to death. 
While thou standest fair as some queen to be 
Crowned on the morrow, O sovereign tree! 

Thou art a chemist of might, O tree! 

The sunlight under thy alchemy 
Turneth to gold and comes flashing down 
Over earth's carpet of green and brown. 

Like the coins of some Spanish argosy 

Lost in the tremulous green of the sea. 

Thou art a poet of power, O tree! 

Thy branches whisper rare rhymes to me; 
Old legends that have no power of speech. 
Old songs that from soul to soul outreach. 

That surge and beat like some passionate sea 

Confined amid cavernous rocks, O tree! 



77 



Thou art an artist of skill, O tree! 

To paint fair forms on the flowery lea ; 

The moonlight sifting adown thy leaves 

A fairy pattern of silver weaves, 
And etches strange figures that seem to be 
Of some far-off, mystical land, O tree! 

But most of all thou art friend, O tree! 

Lifelong companion and friend to me ; 
The best thou tellest to heart and brain 
Thy branches chant in a clear refrain ; 

'The great Father bindeth all things to thee, 

With his love and spirit." I thank thee, tree! 

THE CATHEDRAL AT RHEIMS 

OF thee the poet sings, the artist dreams. 
Thou frozen prayer! Thou glimpse of God in 
stone ; 
Pride of pontificate and kingly throne, 
Through misty medieval twilight beams 
Thy starry beauty. Where the sunlight streams 
Through shattered glass on altars overthrown, 
Ruin and ravage claim thee as their own 
And thou art memory, immortal Rheims. 
A memory — with the illusive fire 
That burns unquenched from stars for ages cold; 
A memory — with rose and passion flower 
Of yesterday. Spirit of Rheims, be bold ! 
Who puts his trust in armament and sword. 
How shall he stand? Proclaim anew the Lord! 
78 



THE ROAD 

T^VER the road runs on without an end; 
■*-' Always the tavern just beyond the bend ; 
Always the flash of light, the fitful shade; 
Always whisperings that the soft winds made; 
Ever the white road running mile on mile, 
Where the children play by the wooden stile; 
Where calm pools hold the river hushed and still; 
By singing brook and bog and breezy hill. 

Were it not well with the heart 
Could it find the end of the road? 

Were it not well with the soul 
Could it drop the load. 

Ever the road ran on where kings have trod 

And battling legions fought for truth and God ; 

Old wars were waged, old dynasties held sway. 

While the road ran on and on through the bloody way; 

Runs on where tyrant empires arm and rise 

To meet a world with vision in its eyes, 

Runs on to find the holy, lasting good, 

That waits around the bend, beyond the wood! 

Were it not well with the world 
Could it find the end of the road? 

End of the battle and brawl. 
The war and the goad? 



79 



Ever the road runs on, — its white lines move, 
Crossing the broken trails of death and love. 
In the hush of the tall, sweet grass where stands 
The tombstone, white as folded, praying hands. 
Is surely the end of the road! But no. 
Past the grave and the buried hope we go ! 
Ever the road runs on, the white road gleams, 
Down through the mystery of death and dreams. 

Were it not well with the heart 
Could it come to some low, white stile 

Under the crimson sunset 
And rest for awhile? 

Ever the road runs on past the sea's white sand 
Where the naiads dance together hand in hand; 
Where shallops rock with silken sails unfurled. 
And mermen that sport in the nether world 
Toss up bleached shells whose lowly murmurs tell 
Of sailors stark beneath the ocean's sv*^el! ; 
On to the great sea's confines — surely here 
The end of the road may happily appear! 

Were it not well for the heart 
Could it drop in the sea its load? 

Live as the mad mermen live 
At the end of the road? 



80 



Ever the road runs on past the blue sea wave, 

O'er the mountain pass and beyond the grave. 

Not a stop for happiness, love, or tears. 

Just the onward rush of the breathless years. 

Ever the soul pursues its shining way, 

Ever the restless spirit wills to stray, 

Follows the road that hints some sweet surprise 

Over the hills of dream to Paradise. 

Were it not well with the soul 
Could it find the end of the road? 

Be merged in the life of God 
And forget the load? 

FLOWERS 

NOT for man's uses do they shed their beauty. 
By every highway, field, and pasture bars; 
But from an inner sense of life and duty 
That lifts the dumb cell circling toward the stars. 

Not for man's pleasure are the flowers growing; 

Though eyes were blind the roses still had blown. 
The cosmos clothes itself with beauty, glowing, 

Through form and color we have long outgrown. 

Purpose of life have flowers; glad goals invite them. 

Not aimlessly the timid violets blow. 
Ages from now the human shall unite them 

To pulsing passion that we mortals know. 



81 



I was of them long since, in by-gone ages. 

They are outreaching through all forms to God. 
Scent of the roses, mind of wisest sages. 

Alike have striven upward from the clod. 

Who shall declare the soul or count its hours? 

Weigh it, or measure it, or tell its form? 
Vibrating through the beauty of the flowers, 

Sweeping upon the dark wings of the storm. 

All life is spirit pregnant with God's being; 

The very clods are quickened by His breath 
To rise and seek Him; blindness turns to seeing, 

Soul strives from form to form and knows no death. 



THE LIFTED STONE 
I 

BENEATH the stone that close to earth hath lain. 
The whitened grass, long hidden from the skies. 
Anaemic, ghastly, as a cripple lies 
With weak, stark limbs, upon a bed of pain, 
Dwarfed of life's purpose, all upreachings vain, 
Prone in the slimy mire and dankness dies. 
The spiral snail whose undeveloped eyes 
Turn to the darkness of itself again, 
The hurtling ant, the loathsome lizard, crawl 
And scurry to the safety of the gloom. 



82 



Unnamed, wierd, protoplasmic creatures sprawl 
Such suddenly discovered murky tomb, 
While overhead the soaring songsters call 
In joyous consciousness of light and bloom. 

II 

The human heart hath unsuspected ways 

Beneath the shining surface where we tread ; 

A gleam, a word, and consciousness is led 

To noisome darkness, sin-infested maze 

Of ancient heritage where passion plays 

The strumpet's part, and red-eyed murder, dead 

To memory, strikes its age-old blow. Once bled 

The body; now the soul, its brother, slays 

By hate, inconstancy, and thoughtless greed. 

Thou, unobtrusive God, whom humans know 

In fine, high moments, doth thy vastness heed, 

Beneath the surface, how thy creatures grow 

Dwarfed, dumb and blind? Hearken unto our need! 

Light, bloom and song in graciousness bestow! 

Ill 

The scurrying ant from its discovered nest 
Its glittering, pearl-like larva bears away; 
The lizard, in the unaccustomed ray. 
Blinks dull eyes upward. In the grubby breast 
Of pupa beats the wings that soon will rest 



83 



In iridescent beauty on some spray, 

Or in gold-hearted lilies poise and sway, 

As the first star breaks through the crimson west. 

Through slime and mire the vast eternal moves 

In rising spirals. Worm-infested clod 

And mud, grown animate, our doubt reproves. 

Long, voiceless strivings of the trampled sod, 

Blind upward reachings, strong maternal loves, 

Span step by step the dark abyss to God. 



PEACE 

I 

SAD, exiled Dante, in an alien land, 
Whose vine-clad hills blushed in the after-glow. 
Came to a monastery. To and fro 
The barefoot friars paced, each listless hand 
Slipping a bead. When they beheld him stand 
Outside their cloister, sad-eyed, bent with woe, 
"Brother," they asked, "what seek ye, wandering so, 
Food, shelter, raiment?" Like the flashing band 
Of polar fire in winter skies at night. 
To those dark cavernous eyes a strange light came. 
The flashing of a soul, the spirit's flame 
Burning away all wish for rest and ease, 
While from those lips, whose words still live in light. 
Breathed wearily the waited answer — "Peace." 



84 



II 

An exile from my heritage, I wait; 

Time's winged feet pass painfully and slow; 

The days like beads told off in silence go 

With prayer but not with praise. Bereft by fate, 

I seem to stand and glimpse, alas! too late. 

The joy it might have been my lot to know, 

While life's noon, lengthening into sunset's glow, 

Hints of the shadows by the western gate. 

I, who behold Hope's finger beckon me 

Unto the heights beyond the reach of tears, 

In answer to interrogating years 

That pass and pass, yet bring me no surcease. 

Asking what best of life I will to be. 

Reply from contrite spirit, "Give me peace." 

Ill 

Bowing beneath uncompensated loss, 

I long to find retreat, remote and still — 

Some monastery on a vine-clad hill 

Where, at an altar overgrown with moss, 

I may sink down and let life's battles toss 

Round alien flags and standards: those who will 

Dare the emprise demanding strength and skill — 

Their's be the laurel, mine the conquered cross. 

This was my prayer, and God returned me love, 

As the dark brooded and the way grew steep; 



85 



And I who was so sad forgot to weep ; 
An all-pervading power woos to ease; 
Praise-laden hours from Time's gnomon move 
Across this heart that leans on God at peace. 



DAWN 

AT dawn I saw the morning star 
Fade swiftly in the sunrise flame, 
And thought how like my restless heart 

Before the sun of loving came— 
Thy love that flooded fast and far, 
As morning quenched the morning star. 

Pale dreams, that fade before the glow 
That fills my life because of thine. 

Vanish, as in the crimson dawn 
Faint and more faint the planets shine; 

Lovely the star's illusive ray — 

But thou, thou art the perfect day. 

Dear, journey with me — noon be ours— 
The open flowers, the droning bees; 

Dear, tarry with me till the sun 
Sinks flaming o'er the western seas, 

And we may wander, hand in hand, 

Down the long slope of sunset land. 



86 



And when the twilight comes apace, 
The crimson glories sink and die, 

May we together watch the stars 
Shine out upon the tranquil sky. 

And feel life's days were vanished dreams, 

Because the night so holy seems. 

THE DESERT LAND 

WHEN at night I close my eyes, 
Drifting, drifting to the land 
Where my buried city lies, 

'Neath oblivion's yellow sand, 
Through unmeasured space I sweep — 
Mighty desert-land of sleep. 

All is silence; here arise 

Palm-girt islands fringed by sea; 
Snowy castles kiss the skies, 

Bathed in rosy mystery; 
Radiant figures stretch their hands 
Out across the shining sands. 

Ancient love is mine again; 

Lines on lines of work undone; 
Leaping hopes, a shining train ; 

Heavy failures, one by one ; 
Calm, impassioned ghosts that rise 
With reproaches in their eyes. 



87 



Scintillating over all 

Comes the desert's yellow gleam; 
Silence and forgetting fall 

On the bright mirage of dream; 
All I am, all I am not, 
Love and life and self forgot. 

Thus I tread the desert land 
Everyone must tread alone, 

Night by night upon its sand 
Finding all that I have known; 

Lives unnumbered hidden deep 

In the drifting sands of sleep. 



THREE SONGS 

ONCE an angel stooped to bring 
Music that a bard might sing. 

"Sing of joy," the angel cried: 
When the poet sang, men wept. 
Laughter into silence crept, 

Evermore dissatisfied. 

"Sing of pain," the angel cried: 
As the poet sang men smiled 
Out of mortal pain beguiled, 

And the sufferer's tears were dried. 

"Sing of love," the angel cried: 



While the poet sang love's strain 

Our old world turned young again, 
But the bard in singing died. 
Joy is shadowed, pain grows sweet, 
And love's dear song is incomplete. 

LONELINESS 

FRIENDSHIP and love of highest worth are mine 
My will has won in many a righteous quest; 
The earth from dreamy east to vivid west 
Hath brougth me pearls and roses, gold and wine. 
Beauty of orange grove, of northern pine 
My eyes have seen ; my arms have held to rest 
Bright golden heads against a mother-breast — 
The crown of womanhood, the joy divine! 
Yet often, as strange shadows on a glass, 
Appears the image of tempestuous days. 
A presence seems to whisper, "these shall pass, 
Ephemeral flowers of forgotten Mays." 
Seeking its source the ardent soul, alas! 
Fares forth alone through dim, untrodden ways. 

JUST TO BE GLAD 

OH, it is such a beautiful thing 
Just to be glad ! 
To be in tune with the life of the Spring; 
Nevermore sad. 



Think, dear heart, what a wonderful sight 

Is ours at morn; 
Crimson of sunrise and shimmer of light 

As day is born. 

Verdure and bird-song and bursting flower 

And sunset sky; 
The hush of the mystical gloaming hour; 

The stars on high. 

The blessings of toil ; hope's eager smile ; 

Dear faith in God ; 
Friendship and love that can reconcile — 

Lift from the clod. 

Sing, O my soul, arise and sing, 

And grasp thy heaven ! 
Just to be glad is the blessedest thing 

That God has given. 



TEMPTATION 

I COME to try man's weakness or his strength, 
Yet honor need not droop nor virtue fall; 
I wait on God; and so may rise at length. 
The whitest, strongest angel of them all. 



90 



SELF-SACRIFICE 

WHEN love is present self is lost in love 
Which knows no self, its object being by. 
This one is self-sacrifice: to prove 

Kindness can act and speak, though hate is nigh. 



!)l 



PATRIOTIC 



93 



THE MOTHERS 

AMERICA, I love thee— gladly I'd fight for thee 
To keep thy crimson glory afloat on land and sea. 
Alas! my woman fingers are weak for sword or gun; 
I give thee only my heart's blood — I give my son. 

America, I love thee — thy prairies and thy hills, 

Thy foaming ocean beaches, thy laughing brooks and 

rills. 
To guard thee and defend thee as men have ever done, 
I give thee only my heart's blood — I give my son. 

America, I love thee. While anxiously I wait, 

The trumpet calls on men to ride, to guard each bridge 

and gate. 
Oh, what is best of me will be where tides of battle run! 
I will be there, though I am here — I give my son. 

America, I love thee — and should the horror come, 
The bravest and the strongest give life for right and 

home, 
And should I weep in loneliness as many a one has 

done, 
My consolation will be this — I gave my son. 



95 



PERSHING'S MEN 

February 4TH, 1917 

THEY are marching north today, Pershing's men ; 
From the crimson dawn to dark, 
Through the cactus, dust, and stark 
Reaches of the arid plain; 
Honest men, men without stain, 

Pershing's men. 

They are coming up today, Pershing's men. 

Knowing only duty called. 

Naught but waiting has appalled ; 
Waiting in the sun and rain, 
Waiting, waiting there in vain, 
Pershing's men. 

They are bringing honor home, Pershing's men. 

With the flag in heart and brain, 

They have suffered on the plain. 
Lest the gray wolves leave their pack. 
Now they're marching, marching back, 
Pershing's men. 

Fame and glory be to you, Pershing's men! 

Were you half a million strong, 

Sheathing sword and singing song, 
Peace would fold her wings and rest. 
Praise the men who did their best — 
Pershing's men. 



96 



MY FLAG 

MY flag, my crimson, cloud-kissed flag, 
Thy peaceful conquest over-sea 
Has shrined thee higher in men's hearts 

Than bloody wars of history. 
All battle flags have brought to man 

More righteous law or holier creed ; 
In peace. Old Glory, thou dost bring 
Relief to millions in their need. 

My flag, my azure, star-lit flag, 

Ten thousand children, sore distrest, 
Of alien blood and alien tongue, 

Are clasping thee against their breast. 
They know not where our land may be, 

Uncouth our name, unguessed our race. 
But charted in their hearts they hold 

This nation as thy dwelling place. 

My flag, my blood-drenched, war-worn flag. 

How fair thy record, big thy fate! 
Above the blinding battle smoke, 

Thy honor still inviolate ! 
Thy bravery invincible! 

Earth's millions go where thou hast led: 
Protector of a nation's power, 

Dispenser of a nation's bread. 



97 



My flag, my peaceful, honored flag, 

Across the seas the starving pray 
God's blessing on the stars and stripes, 

God's mercy on thy righteous sway. 
Beside their yellow, black and red 

In Belgian hearts thy colors soar; 
Such bloodless conquests of the earth 

Be thine, my flag, forevermore. 

SOLDIERS ALL 

THE MEMORIAL DAY PARADE 

FAR up the Street comes the martial tread. 
The grave policemen riding ahead; 
Under the blossom drift of the trees. 
Where the lilac flowers scent the breeze, 
Around the corner and past the square, 
And on through the face-lined thoroughfare. 

Soldiers of yesterday, dressed in blue, 
With army hat that the sixties knew; 
An empty sleeve here meets the eye; 
There feeble men in a coach go by; 
White hair and tottering steps — alas! 
Shrunken the lines as the swift years pass! 

Their torn flags, blood-stained and battle worn. 
Flap to the winds of the breezy morn. 
Flags that the coldest look upon 



Through tears for the glory they have won; 
Just this once in the whole long year 
These precious flags in our streets appear. 

Hurrah for the school boys trim and neat! 
Their tread makes merry the dusty street; 
Cheer for their banners blue and gold 
And the clean new flags the winds unfold; 
Ready to try the world's great fight, 
Tomorrow's soldiers with eyes alight! 

Cheer for the men who left the Rhine, 

Or Erin's isle, or Norway's pine. 

The Scottish heather, the Neva's mouth. 

And fair bright countries of the south; 

Adopted soldiers, brave and leal, 

To shoulder musket or draw our steel. 

Hail to their banners lifted high, 
While over them all our colors fly, 
The stars and stripes all nations claim. 
Whatever color, creed or name; 
And bright as banners the flowers shine 
Where the flower wagons wheel in line. 

Cheer for the tread of their marching feet. 
While over their heads the green boughs meet; 
They carry the flowers and flags once more 
To the army of soldiers gone before. 
And our hearts are stronger for peace .'•nd pain, 
Who turn to the daily task ag .in. 



09 



A MARCHING SONG FOR AMERICA* 

FROM the mountains, wreathed and hoary, 
From the river and the plain, 
From the seaboard and the valley. 

We are marching forth again. 
We are marching, marching, marching. 

In answer to the call 
Of justice for the nations 
And liberty for all. 

We are coming, we are coming, 

As the pilgrims came of yore. 
We will rally 'round Old Glory 

As our fathers did before. 
We are marching, marching, marching, 

Millions marching — to the call 
Of justice for the nations 

And liberty for all. 

With no malice in our bosom, 

With no hate, no dreams of greed, 
Where the stricken millions beckon, 

Where the maimed and starving bleed. 
We are marching, marching, marching, 

In answer to the call 
Of justice for the nations 

And liberty for all. 

^Copyright by Life Publishing Company 



100 



THE SPIRIT OF AMERICA 

I AM no nursling of a westering sun ; — 
My voice resounded on Homeric lyre ; 
Children of Hellas, hot with my desire, 
Obeyed the call; the pales of Russia run 
Red with my blood ; the Latin, Celt and Hun, 
Indian and Asian, lit my quenchless fire; 
Westward I bore Europa from her sire. 
Westward to visioned grandeurs yet unwon. 
Now, like spent birds hurtling the crested foam. 
Earth's wandering millions follow, in their eyes 
The art of Phidias and the might of Rome, 
To be transmuted, fused and wrought, they come, 
My children, led by freedom's high emprise ; 
From such as these my greatness shall arise. 



101 



BIRDS 



103 



ROBIN REDBREAST 

ON our beleagured city, 
White-walled by the winter's might, 
From the south on March winds riding. 

Charges a merry knight. 
His clarion call is challenge 

To frost and ice and snow; 
Herald of showers and sunny hours 
That lay grim winter low. 

He sings as the snow is melting. 

He shouts as the winds retreat, 
"Cheerily, cheerily, cheer-0," 

In face of the rain and sleet. 
The snowdrop has heard and answered, 

It nods to the roots below ; 
"The snow still falleth, but robin calleth, 

Push up! The south winds blow." 

No cold has power to daunt him, 
This prophet we waited long, 

Most welcome of all earth's voices, 
Rollicking, lovesome song; 



105 



"Cheerily, cheerily, cheer-0," 

His notes from the bare bough fall, 
And the south wind sighs and the green things rise 

To answer robin's call. 

BIRDS IN THE SNOW 

SMALL winged creatures on these cruel days 
When high-piled snow covers the frozen ground, 
Feed on the offal of the earth and raise 
Their twittering voices in a song of praise 
To Him who sends the snow and the long night. 
To Him who rounds the planet into light; 
He who in shadow and in sun is found. 

O soul, thou art a winged thing, endowed 

With power of song, with ecstasy of prayer! 
From earth's poor pittance raise thy head, low-bowed, 
Rise on thy wings, proclaim thy joy aloud: — 
Thy kinship with the beautiful and bright; 
All base desire, all earth-born appetite, 
Changing to music in the upper air. 

THE ORIOLE 

ABIT of sunset color given wing. 
A banner o'er the fruit trees' sea of flowers, 
Flies the glad oriole ; listen to him sing. 
Like Moslem priest in stately minaret towers! 



T06 



He calls my soul to prayer, as he repeats 
The paean of a myriad vanished springs; 

The beckoning of illusive hopes, the sweets 
Of ancient days, is in the song he sings. 

He brings my eyes to tears because of these 
The dreams, the haunting visions life hath seen ; 

Voice of the springtime, calling from the trees, 
Bidding the heart remember what hath been. 

Yea, what hath been ! But more than this he tells. 
As forward flitting on insistent wings, 

A jubilate from his gay throat swells. 
The promised joy of all earth's future springs. 

Hopes of a newer beauty for the earth, 

Felicities of May days yet to be. 
Burst from that heart that cannot hide its mirth. 

But pours it forth in wanton ecstasy. 

O priest who calls to prayer from blooming trees, 

O singing prophet of delights to be! 
Glad oriole, chant thy laud until men cease 

Their restlessness and strive to be like thee. 

SONG SPARROW 

GRAY-breasted bird whose throat is full of song 
Sweeter than all the other songs of Spring, 
Could'st thou but know I love to hear thee sing 
And would protect thee from all pain and wrong, 



107 



And shield and shelter thee, wouldst thou belong 

To me, and dwell close by me, build and bring 

Thy featured mate to share my fostering, 

Nor fear to dwell my sheltering shrubs among? 

No, for behold the heart of woman who. 

Knowing God's love, has shrunk with foolish fear 

And turned in pain away. My soul, uprear 

On faith's strong pinions, doubt no more the true, 

The mighty love that dwells forever near. 

With glad expectancy and tender care. 

THE HERMIT THRUSH 

ON rosy seas of sunset sky 
Drifts the majestic evening star. 
As from a wooded copse nearby 
A voice melodious floats afar. 
Soaring on wings of rapturous flight, 

Thrilling with undertone of pain, 
It languishes to reach the light, 
Then mounts serene again. 

Chanting the spirit's mystery, 

Her ancient wars, her praise and bane. 
Breathing what human love shall be, 

Hinting the soul's immortal gain, 
To silence falling. Fades the light 

And deeper grows the livid shade, 
While on the altar of the night 

The listener's heart is laid. 

108 



THE BLUEBIRD 

I HEARD a bluebird singing the old immortal lay 
Along green country roadsides one early April day, 
And through my spirit flooded the tender music, heard 
In days that are forgotten ; the early morning bird. 
The songs in autumn twilight of the dear long-ago — 
Carols that from love and faith unhindered used to flow. 

Again I haunt the meadows where flashing cowslips 

bloom. 
On eager feet go seeking the arbutus' perfume ; 
The bluebird's joyous singing hath given back my own; 
Again I hear the leaping of brooks along the stone, 
Breezes among the pinetrees, the gentle April rain; 
The bitter years turn backward, I am a child again. 

I heard a bluebird smging the dear immortal lay, 
No bird that I remember from the long-vanished day. 
But he that sings forever, undying bird of song. 
Arise, my soul and listen! Vibrant, intense and strong, 
Immortal and triumphant, unsullied in the Spring, 
Youth floods across the spirit that hears the bluebird 
sing. 

THE MEADOWLARK 

WHEN elder whitens fence and pasture bars 
And the wildgrape is lavish of perfume, 
When field and meadow gleam with daisy-stars — 
A veritable milky-way of bloom — 



109 



Through the still air I hear a dulcet note, 
Calling from early morn till dewy dark, 

A tender song from a soft, feathered throat — 
"I am a happy little meadowlark." 

Simple confession of a gentle bird. 

No rapturous song, no loud, ambitious strain; 
But rustic, restful, homelike as a word 

Telling of farmer folk and manners plain, 
Of lazy cattle stooping low to drink 

From limpid brooks, that like blue ribbons mark 
The flowery intervale, above whose brink 

Hovers on awkward wing the meadowlark. 

Friend in brown mottled dress, thy life is set 

To earth's best song — the song of sweet content. 
I love thee, and I pray no gun nor net. 

Nor any harm be thine till time be spent. 
The same great love I lean on cares for thee 

And to thy call as to my prayer doth hark ; 
Hear the clear note borne back to answer me — 

"I am a happly little meadowlark." 



BROWN BIRD 

LITTLE brown bird, the autumn winds 
Blow chill across thy speckled breast, 
As underneath the crimson vines 



110 



I see thee pause for food and rest; 
Thy cheery voice rings sweetly clear 
Across the frosty atmosphere. 

Little brown bird, October haze 

Lies lingeringly on shore and bay; 
Thy voice is of estival days, 

Thy feathered comrades, where are they? 
Thou seem'st the voice of memory 
Speaking of vanished joy to me. 

Little brown bird, pursue thy way, 

A long, adventurous flight is thine; 
Yet thou wilt feed and sing each day 

Beneath some wayside bush or vine; 
Thy home, as mine, where God doth lead ; 
Thy song, thy table, for thy need. 

THE ENGLISH SPARROW 

DRAB-breasted bunch of feathers on my blind, 
If you were here alone the world were kind; 
But in the sleet and snow, 
Intrepid warriors, earth's vicissitudes 
Scorning with cheer, your merry, chirruping broods 
Find scanty welcome or a bitter foe. 

The ever-watching Father loves no less 
Because you're clothed in such a modest dress. 



111 



Are all untuned to sing; 
Your twittering note in winter is to me 
As sweet as song of bird whose minstrelsy 

Fills budding wood and field with sense of Spring. 

I who can see to heights I cannot reach, 

Who know a language past my power of speech, 

Am glad to have you near; 
So build all unmolested your huge nest 
Upon my cornice, feed and chirp and rest. 

And teach me how to brave a storm with cheer. 

THE CATBIRD 
I 

CATBIRD, catbird, calling, calling, 
While the purple shadows falling 
On the fields of blooming clover 
Tell us day is long since over; 
Song the vesper sparrow sings us, 
That the crimson sunset brings us, 
Is to silence long departed 
When thy voice, O merry hearted, 
From the lilac sprays above us 
Mocks the gentle birds that love us. 

Then thy mimic throat's repeating 
All the mating and the sweeting 
That we hear about our dwelling. 



112 



In the twilight thou art telling 
Joy of orioles and thrushes, 
Cry of plover in the rushes; 
Hark! I hear a robin singing. 
Now thy note, a sadness bringing, 
Hints the whitethroat's April greeting. 
Thou, all love and glee repeating, 
Teachest human hearts to borrow 
Hope and courage for their sorrow. 

Could we, when joy's sun departed. 
Sing as thou, O, happy hearted ; 
Could we gather songs that winging 
Come about us, blessed singing 
Would we know ! Unconscious beauty 
Of unselfishness and duty 
Dauntless, noble lives are showing; 
Songs from humble patience flowing; 
Songs of praising, songs of praying; 
Songs of toiling, songs of playing; 
Joy the meanest life is knowing. 
Blessedness of love's bestowing. 

To such happiness replying. 

Could we sing in songs undying, 

We might change earth's dreary hours 

To a festival of flowers. 

Sing away the twilight sadness, 



113 



Change our gloaming into gladness, 
Even as thou, dear catbird, calling, 
While the purple shadows falling 
On the fields of blooming clover 
Tell us day is long since over. 



II 

BIRDS sing in interludes, the robin calls 
At early morning from the elm tree towers; 
The oriole and sparrow, finch and thrush. 
Gladden with frequent song the summer hours. 

And smaller birds that nest amid the green 
Bid man in June's effulgency rejoice. 

But all day long amid the grape-vine bower 
I hear one rapturously exultant voice. 

At dawn, before the eager sun has risen. 
At noon, when heat has hushed all other note, 

In dewy twilight, sounds the same refrain, 
Bursting ecstatic from that plain gray throat. 

'Tis like the laughter of a childish heart. 
Gay just because the summer days are here, 

Full of the gladness of a soul that finds 
Itself completed in a soul more dear. 



114 



A something more than bird's that song appears', 
Some strong, impassioned heart it seems to be, 

Whose voice speaks strangely to this heart of mine, 
Bidding it rise and sing, winged and free. 

Sing on, sing on! Around thee falls the sun 
In golden glory — flowers are everywhere. 

The song has vaster scope than nest or young 
That lifts a life from restlessness to prayer. 

ON HEARING THE WOODTHRUSH SING AT 
DAWN 

AT early dawn. 
When night's dark curtains slowly are withdrawn, 
A wilding's voice disturbs the waiting air 
With rapturous notes of gratitude or prayer; 
A voice unknown within the breathlessness 
Of crowded cities, where the masses press 
Each other, deaf to laughter and to sighs, 
Where glooming walls of masonry arise 
As old-time prisons, narrower, narrower prest, 
Crushing the beating heart within the breast. 

Across the gloom 
That fills like purple seas the quiet room, 
The voice floods in as if some tide arisen 
From depths unseen burst through its rocky prison, 
Or some forgotten poet freed from flesh, 



115 



Caught in mysterious play of cosmic mesh, 

Rehearsed the melodies that earth's dull ear 

Roused from its slothful sleep an hour to hear, 

Then turned again, forgetfully, to keep 

But scattered threads borne through the realms of sleep. 

Like pearly spray 
The song escapes the forest's quiet way, 
As sings Egeria by pain set free. 
Seeking in vain an undiscovered sea. 
Thou who hast tuned the wilding's mottled throat 
To love's supreme, impassioned, wonder-note. 

Me thou hast blest 
With tears and laughter, longing and unrest. 
With fear and aspiration, mad and sweet 
Of life, as he who on besandaled feet 
Across the heavenly dawns of long-ago 
Brought to sad earth his rapture and his woe. 
Thou who art burning love, dead poets knew; 
The sunrise oriflamme, the chrism of dew; 
The voiceless incantation of the rose 
When to the paling stars her buds unclose ; 
The rainbow arch, the winter, snow-empearled ; 
All wordless, voiceless beauty of the world ; 
Thou who art life, breathe through my soul and be 
Released in music, set thy being free 
Within my breast, as yonder rapturous bird 
Pours through the somnolent woods his pulsing word. 



116 



Earth hath no sweeter song 
Than doth to this wild creature's throat belong. 
Thou who within my nature dwell'st as part 
Of thinking brain, swift hand and loving heart, 
Let me not shrink at miseries that bring 
Unto my life the heavenly gift — to sing. 
Let me not question Thee when thou dost take 
Unto grim nether worlds my all nor make 
Impassioned moan, as Glaucus, when the sea, 
Washing away his loved humanity, 
Revealed his godhood in the depths below. 
Grim mystery of doubt each soul must know 
In regions where the Stygian rivers roll 
Through black abyss till the aspiring soul, 
Weary of loss and bitterness and blight. 
Seeking for thee, stumbles upon the light; 
Rises florescent, winged, fit to sing 
As yonder throstle in the woods of Spring. 

THE PURPLE-FINCH 

AFAR the city fades to gray 
Dream city — spire, roof and tower. 
Here at our feet the Spring repeats 
Her miracle of grass and flower. 
All silence, save the bees and birds; 

No motion save the swallows winging 
Across the blue, O hark! how sweet! 
The merry purple finch is singing. 



117 



Bright bird, whose song seems summer's self, 

Prophetic powers to thee belong; 
My listening senses thrill to hear 

Thy joy outpour itself in song. 
A hint of roses floods thy notes, 

Long summer days old raptures bringing; 
Calm, star-lit twilight, strength of dawn 

And pulse of noon are in thy singing. 

Fresh as the brook that piney woods 

And fragrant, cowslip-meads has trod. 
Above the far-off city flows 

Thy rapturous hymn of praise to God ; 
Like sweet-voiced prophet who foretells 

The blessed days the years are bringing, 
When hate shall yield its power to love ; 

Hark! hark! the purple finch is singing. 

A NEST FULL OF SNOW 

AN empty nest whereto has clung 
The wreathing beauty of the snow, 
Brings back to me the summer joys, 
The song and bloom of months ago. 
And glad my heart when I recall 
How, far away 'neath southern skies, 
The feathered throng we mourn as lost 
Still loves and builds, still sings and flies. 



18 



O you who have beheld in tears 

The burial blossoms wreath your door, 

Closed to the merry feet that pass 

Across its threshold nevermore, 

See with delight this snow-piled nest; 

Remember that the glad bird flies 

Singing, beneath the kinder sun, 

Of cloudless and familiar skies! 



119 



IN MEMORIAM 



J<21 



IN MEMORIAM 
I 

ALL things of beauty come at last to thee, 
Abide unchanged in thy tenebrous land ; 
Come, blithesome maiden, take me by the hand. 
Weary I am of life, Persephone. 
Lost continents and spoils of time are thine; 
Ah, surely from such affluence thou canst spare 
The gleaming silver of my mother's hair. 
The touch of my dear father's hand in mine. 
So little do I ask thee, child of light — 
A vanished smile, a gentle w^ord or two. 
Needed to set a jarring world aright. 
I kneel as I in childhood used to do, 
Waiting for thee, Persephone, to bring 
Out of the gloom the rapture of lost Spring. 



II 

My father, dear, my father! ever mine 
Though on strange seas to unfamiliar shore 
I saw thee pass — my father evermore, 



123 



As I am evermore a child of thine. 
In babyhood, on tottering feet, I trod 
With hand about thy finger tightly twined. 
Always my comrade, lover, friend — my kind, 
Dear teacher and my argument for God. 
Once long ago I lost thee — worlds away — 
And found thee here. So shall I find again, 
After the dawn and twilight, sun and rain. 
In some old country loved in some old day. 
My father, guard for me the heavenly home 
And keep my place at table till I come. 



Ill 

My mother, sweet, my mother! thou wert fair- 
Fair as this crystal vase that holds a rose; 
Thy hair a gleaming crown of winter snows, 
Thy heart the summer sun and genial air — 
Its language love, its atmosphere a prayer — 
The love of beauty that the artist knows — 
The love of virtue that the saints disclose — 
The love of all mankind — found dwelling there. 
Thy dainty body like a crystal vase, 
So fragile and so beautiful, lies low 
Amid the creeping roots of grass and tree. 
Yet do I dream of seeing thy dear face 
Where by still streams our vanished roses blow 
And all that love may win is waiting me. 



124 



IV 

Dear vanished eyes like blue-gray doves that coo 

Beneath the eaves when April days are bright; 

Like starry, twilight spaces of the night, 

We scarce discern if they be gray or blue. 

When walking through the morning's chrism of dew 

In wooded ways, there flashed upon my sight 

A violet that was neither blue nor white; 

Such modest tint her lashes hid from view. 

The lake's pale shimmering under skies of gray; 

Translucent ice that clings along its shore; 

The gull's curved wing that sweeps a far blue sea — 

Colored as these — recurring night and day, 

As fair and haunting pictures seem no more — 

My mother's eyes, whose light is memory. 

V 

Where art thou, my beloved? It is Spring: 
I never knew a Spring apart from thee. 
Against the tender sky faint tracery 
Of nascent leaves appear, and robins bring 
To the old haunts their bits of straw and string. 
We watched them build, we leaned and laughed to see 
Their scrawny nestlings in the blooming tree ; 
Hand clasped in hand we walked and heard them sing. 
Where hast thou gone? I weep in twilight hours. 
Remembering thy grave so brown and bare ; 
But in the dawn, when morning's glorious star 
Shines through the fruit-tree's wreaths of ghostly flowers, 
I creep from empty room to room — I dare 
To call thy name. Who knows where angels are? 
125 



VI 

Gray, foam-capped billows, buoyant, bounding, free, 
Sob on the rocks and sing along the sand ; 
Waking or sleeping, dreamily I stand 
On distant coasts and hear their minstrelsy. 
Amid the inland ways throb ceaselessly 
The passionless pulses of a mighty hand; 
Remembered tides that flood a thirsty land 
Of dun salt marsh bring back my youth to me. 
Though silence creeps where Eros used to sing, 
His song floods memory, and again I hear 
Across long miles my own call tenderly: 
I see dear eyes, gray as the seagull's wing; 
I touch dear hands; a presence floodeth near, 
On tides of being, linking sea to sea. 

VII 

The moonbeams poured into the quiet room 
Until it seemed an over-brimming bowl 
Beaded with flashing drops; the shadows stole 
Like ghosts before a censer's rich perfume, 
Leaving a swaying tracery of gloom 
On floor and ceiling — wreath and flowery scroll; 
So bales of gold-wrought eastern stuffs unroll ; 
So bursts a perfect lily into bloom. 
Along the moonlit intervale a tread 
Moved as the wind that stalks the pine ; my name 
Breathed softly, on my brow dear kisses shed 
Old rapture; pain and loneliness in shame 
Shrink back before the spirit's oriflamme ; 
Dawn beckons from the heights and night has fled. 
126 



